


One More Push

by Biscuit Lion (cookiethelion)



Category: British Comedian RPF
Genre: Chinese New Year, Chinese Zodiac, Dogs, Dragons, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-10
Updated: 2013-02-10
Packaged: 2017-11-28 20:47:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/678730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cookiethelion/pseuds/Biscuit%20Lion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Milton perked up, pulled out the mop and, ignoring that the bucket was empty, started to work on the floor. He kept his eyes down, and then looked up, as if he had not known Humphrey was staring at him.<br/>---<br/>Happy Chinese New Year!! Here's to the Year of the Snake :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	One More Push

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd(ish) by LittleAngelApple  
> \----
> 
> Goodness, it's been ages since I last wrote anything related to Valet Service.
> 
> By the way, I've changed the series a little so what should have been two separate but heavily linked stories have been merged into one. That said, the gap between the two is still obvious, so instead of putting them in one series, I'm still splitting it into two. In a way, this piece is a bridge between the two - a little teaser for what's going to happen ;)

Milton clicked his fingers, but the mop and bucket had barely moved when the handle toppled backwards, tipping the bucket with it. Milton ran into the kitchen, his eyes on Humphrey’s shut door until he ducked to scoop up the mop.

“Matthew, can I call you back?” said Humphrey, his voice loudening the further his door opened. “I know … love you … bye…”

Milton perked up, pulled out the mop and, ignoring that the bucket was empty, started to work on the floor. He kept his eyes down, and then looked up, as if he had not known Humphrey was staring at him.

“Is something the matter, _sir_?” said Milton.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m mopping.” Milton waited for Humphrey to do more than just raise his eyebrows, but instead, he turned around and began to walk back to his room. “That’s it? You’re not going to ask me anything else?”

Humphrey stopped and turned around. “You said everything was fine.”

“Yes, but you never–” Milton glanced at Humphrey’s room, and caught the dark bronze glint of the brooch sitting next to the jar, the inside of which was patchily tinted with the milky pink of his pearl, his Item. “I’m worried, Humphrey.”

“Worried about what? You’ve got a successor now, and you’ve taken most of the brooches–”

“My powers are failing me.”

Humphrey followed Milton’s stare, and then walked back over. He propped his elbows on the counter, taking care to avoid leaning too far over. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, Humphrey, I am sure.”

“Have you never had days where your powers … don’t really … respond to you?” Milton slammed a fist down onto the counter, a glow emitting from the cracks of his fingers; Humphrey jumped, though all he could feel was the vibrations. “Sorry.”

Milton opened his hand and slid it off, though his arm was still clenched and trembling. “No, I should be apologising. I shouldn’t have lost my temper.”

“How bad is it?”

Milton put the mop down and nudged the bucket further back with his toes, before he walked out and across the flat; with his back leaning on the opposite wall, he clicked his fingers. Without the mop, the bucket slid much further, although it faltered and stopped half-way to Milton.

“You see what I mean?” he said.

“Yeah … have you spoken to any of the other leaders?”

“Only the Snake leader, but he didn’t mention anything.” Milton glanced down and clicked his fingers again; instead of feeling a gust around his ankles, the bucket was pushed into the kitchen, although it stopped short of nudging into the wall.

“Have you talked to Thom?”

“I don’t want to disturb him.”

“He dropped this in earlier.” Humphrey pulled out a calling card from his pocket, and turned it over. As if on cue, the doorbell rang, and Milton edged towards it first.

“You go and talk to Matthew,” he said. He raised his eyebrows and widened his eyes. Humphrey nodded, looked as if he was going to say something, but then left to continue his call, and Milton waited until his door was shut before he answered the front door.

“Hello sweetheart.” Thom held his arms apart and looked ready to pounce, but Milton clicked his fingers first. They remained unmoving, and then Thom dropped his arms and walked past him. “I see I’m not the only one.”

“Did you bring this up with Brydon?” said Milton as he shut the door.

Thom sat down before answering. “Not just Brydon. I checked with everyone, and they’re all having problems – except for Carr and Bishop. I know, I didn’t believe them either, so I went to see them, and they really _are_ fine.”

“Did you notice anything different about them?” Instead of sitting down, Milton stood behind the other sofa, arms crossed and resting on the pane whilst taking his weight as he leaned forward.

Thom also leaned forward, his hands clasped. “Yes. Both of them don’t have brooches.”

Milton tilted further, until both feet were hovering several centimetres off the ground. “You think the brooches are doing this?”

“Of course I do. The question is, sweetheart, what are you going to do about it?”

“What do the others say?”

“I don’t know. You’re the first one to hear my theory.”

Milton glanced down at his fingers. “If your theory’s correct, the best thing to do would be to get rid of the brooches, except–”

“We can’t leave them lying somewhere humans can access, but we can’t let the Western Valets take them again.”

“The only place we could possibly put them is in the safe house, but if burglars break in and find them, they’re going to see them as valuables.”

“Exactly, and once they sell the brooches off, we might not even get them back.”

Pause. “We’re stuck with them, aren’t we?”

“It looks like we are.” Thom leaned back, his hands apart and glowing; he looked down, apparently as concerned as Milton. “Anyway, how’s your Clan doing?”

“Most of us are fine, some of us still recovering. We think Ben should be able to fly again in five months.” Milton looked up, and his eyes met Thom’s. It was only now that he realised just how worn down Thom still was from events; a year ago, the lines around the corner of his eyes had been softer, and there had been none at all on the outer reaches of his mouth. If Thom had changed _that_ much, thought Milton, how much had impacted on him?

“So, everyone’s still together?”

“I’d know if something was wrong. How’s your Clan doing?”

Thom frowned, a move which aged him more. “Same as yours. Most of them are fine, but I’m keeping my eye on Mark and Tim.” He winced and started to shake his left arm, but then switched to banging his elbow on the armrests. “Come on…”

“Tuck?” Milton unfolded his arms and cupped the pane as his body rose higher; one more push, and he would be able to swing over the sofa if needed.

“It keeps going dead for about four times a day.”

“How long has this been happening for?”

“About a week. It feels like someone’s trying to get through to me, but when I check my Item, nothing happens.”

“Do you need any help?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” said Thom, a grin appearing on his face, though this one was not as revealing as before.

Milton’s only reaction was to roll his eyes. “I thought you had finished making those sorts of jokes?”

“Trust me, sweetheart, if I was feeling a bit better–”

Thom was interrupted when a burst of fire sprang in front of them, starting from above the table and ending inches from the ceiling, all without leaving any singe marks. A second later, Milton lost all feeling in his lower half and his arms weakened; he collapsed to the ground on his knees, clinging onto the back so hard he nearly tilted it on its hind legs.

“Milton–” Thom jumped to his feet, but stopped when he noticed Milton’s trembling hands whitening, and his breaths progressing into snarls.

Milton tried to pull himself up onto his feet, and even though his arms had strength again, his legs were too heavy – no, worse than that – they were numb. He dropped his head in between his arms, dreading when he would have to look up again, as he would have to face Thom, and there was no other way of explaining why he had kneeled for so long. At least Humphrey was still in his room; he hoped Matthew could keep him in there long enough, at least until he could get up again.

“Back – _off_ – Tuck.” Milton tried to pull himself up, but they weakened once more, forcing him to let go entirely. His hands slammed onto the floorboard, but he also wished he had just fallen straight onto his front with his arms out by his side instead. He dropped his head even lower, until even the tip of his nose was hidden with the strands of hair dangling over his face. His back shook as he inhaled deeper with each breath, and Thom lingered on the spot for even longer. He started to take small steps to Milton, and behind him, Humphrey came out of his room.

“Milton – are you OK –?” Humphrey walked towards his Valet, with each stride widening, the gap between each one decreasing in time.

“I _said_ back off.” Milton clenched his left hand into a fist, and Humphrey faltered next to Thom’s side. Both men were half a sofa’s length away from Milton, yet they weren’t willing to retreat. Not that it mattered in the end; with another push, all feeling came back to Milton’s legs, and he staggered to his feet. His head remained down for a moment longer as he grasped the back of the sofa again; when he steadied himself, he looked up at the gap between Humphrey and Thom rather than straight into their eyes.

“What happened?” said Humphrey.

“I … I don’t know,” said Milton. He lifted his hand above the sofa, and then returned it to his side.

“I need to go. I’ve got a meeting with one of my members.” Thom stopped by Milton’s side, and placed a hand on his shoulder; Milton looked down at his shoes, but tilted his head slightly to his left. Thom nodded, and swooped in to give Milton a kiss on the cheek; the latter took it without so much as a flinch, and waited for the door to be shut before he dared to look up, though he stopped at Humphrey’s hips.

“I need to … fix the hem,” said Milton as he grabbed his coat tails and picked the stitching with his fingers. “Yeah, a thread’s coming out.”

“Milton, if this is about your powers–” Humphrey was saying as he followed Milton, though he stopped several steps away from his room entrance.

“Everything’s _fine_ , don’t worry about me.” Milton shut the door and staggered over to his wardrobe, but then stuck an arm out and leaned against the wall. He glanced down at his other hand, and focused until his arm shook; when he was about to give in, his palm glowed at last. He kept it up as he slackened and let his shoulder touch the wall instead; for now, his abilities were back to normal.

His tilted his head until the crown bumped into the wall. The rest of the flat was silent, and Milton wanted Humphrey to move first; he didn’t know how long he waited for, but when he finally heard something, he stood up and regained his breath. There was still time to worry about his fading powers, but for now, the kitchen needed to be mopped.


End file.
